


Silver Lining

by athena_crikey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance, Sewing, fashion - Freeform, future!fic, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: Nishinoya turns and Asahi sees his appreciation burning in him like a bonfire, his eyes bright and shining, his lips parted in awe. “I thought you asked me here toundress me, not dress me!” He smiles hugely. “This is amazing, Asahi-san.”“You’re my inspiration,” replies Asahi shyly. “And you’d make a great model. You’ve got the flair.”“Hell yeah I do,” replies Nishinoya, striking a pose and grinning.
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 14
Kudos: 206





	Silver Lining

**Author's Note:**

> NGL, this was inspired by a demented video I watched on Youtube ranking all Haikyuu characters through an algorithm that rates beauty. Noya was in the top 5. 
> 
> Also I've been watching a lot of sewing videos these days... Strange times, man. Strange times.

It’s late. Moonlight is painting the curtains a silvery grey while overhead the white LED bulb pumps out a sharp, stark light. Downstairs his parents are watching some late-night variety show, the audience laughter filtering up the stairs like the sound of the ocean in a shell. Asahi pays it no mind. 

This is the time he comes alive. His chores are done for the night, his homework complete and his bath taken. He sits at a high-backed wooden chair found at a recycle shop, his table a slab of painted particleboard screwed into the walls of his closet. On it sits his sewing machine, fabric slipping through his fingers and under the tiny metal foot, going in loose and gangly and coming out pristine and perfect. The machine whirrs, his foot light on the pedal, his hands guiding the fabric. He is creating order from chaos, is birthing something new and beautiful from a mediocre source. 

Asahi knows himself to be an awkward, fumbling person, all rough edges and deep cracking insecurities. He’s spent his life trying to fit himself into the expectations set out by everyone around him, trying to be a praiseworthy son, a strong student, a reliable ace. It’s exhausting. 

It’s only in these scant few hours at the end of the day that he can sit down in the one place that’s never judged him for being too big or too weak or too insecure. The one place where he can be someone who has never felt inadequate. The walls of his closet workspace are covered with sketches for shirts and skirts and dresses, the upper shelves full of cheap fabric and patterns. There are hooks for his colourful thread bobbins and scissors, and a basket for pins and beeswax and pinking shears. Everything is organized, is neat and tidy. 

Asahi guides the taffeta for the skirt he’s making through the machine, the stitches invisible on the transparent fabric. He’s using French seams for a smooth, professional finish. Not that anyone’s ever going to wear this skirt. His mother buys her clothes new and he has no sister to act as a model for him. He sews for the joy of it, for the freedom it gives him – the ability to express himself in a way he can’t otherwise. But he still misses the opportunity of admiring his work being loved and worn and shown off the way it deserves to be. 

And realistically, without someone to model his creations, he has no hope in hell of ever achieving his dream.

  
***

After the highs and lows of the Nationals, the thrills and the heartbreak, Asahi is enjoying winding down his days on the Karasuno volleyball team at a more measured pace than the frantic autumn drive to prepare for the tournament. With the pressure off he’s finding himself connecting with his teammates in a way he never had before – together they’ve been through something formative, something that’s changed them all, and now they’re at ease with each other in a way Asahi’s never experienced before. They spend time chatting together in the club room before and after practice, watch videos together and talk about their plans for their lives after graduation. The first and second years still see that future as immensely far off, but for Daichi, Suga and Asahi it’s only 2 months away.

“I’ve received my acceptance from the Academy,” Daichi tells him one day when it’s just the two of them in the small tatami room smelling of deodorant and dirty socks. Asahi, in the middle of packing his sports bag, looks up. Daichi’s standing in front of the window, the pale winter sun setting behind his back painting a long shadow on the floor. He looks satisfied, happy. “Suga and I are going to get an apartment in Sendai.”

Asahi smiles. “Congratulations! You’ll make a great policeman, Daichi.”

“The program’s only a year and after that I’ll be placed somewhere in the prefecture; hopefully close enough that I can keep living in Sendai. If not we’ll just have to go long distance.”

“I know you’ll find a way to make it work. You two are so dedicated.”

Daichi runs a hand through his hair. In the golden light of the setting sun the motion raises a light layer of particles that glitter in the air like diamond dust. “I hope so. Suga should hear next week about his applications, but he’s a shoe-in for Miyagi Educational, if not Tohoku. How about you – anything new?” 

Asahi leans back, bag slumping to the floor. “I’m looking for a job. Something temp to earn cash while I build up my collection.”

Daichi and Suga are the only two on the team who know about Asahi’s ambitions, his hobby. Daichi nods. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

There’s a pounding on the metal catwalk outside as Kageyama and Hinata fly up the stairs and race towards the club room. Asahi hooks his mouth upwards in a soft smile. “Thanks.”

  
***

After practice, Asahi walks home with Nishinoya in the dark. The two of them have been comfortable with each other since the beginning of Asahi’s second year, Nishinoya never appearing to feel any trepidation when it came to making fast friends with his tall bearded senpai. Nishinoya is fundamentally a simple person; he speaks his mind and wears his heart on his sleeve. And he’s been pushing Asahi since the start of this year to deepen their relationship.

It makes Asahi nervous for a lot of reasons – his inherent insecurities, his fears of relationships in general and with another boy in specific, his worries about messing with the team dynamics. But after Nationals and with his impending departure from the team, some of his uneasiness has calmed. They walk side-by-side, shoulders occasionally bumping, and in the cold January air the contact warms Asahi’s chest. 

“You’re staying here after graduation, right?” asks Nishinoya, breath fogging. There’s snow on the ground, frozen lumps of it cleared away to the sides of the street and impeding the pedestrian space. As they exit the schoolyard Nishinoya hops on the frozen, dirty heaps, spry as a sparrow. Occasionally he throws his arms out to catch his balance, slapping Asahi in the chest. “You didn’t apply to university.”

“I want to go to Tokyo eventually,” confesses Asahi. “But I don’t have the money or the connections right now.”

“Tokyo?” Nishinoya whistles. “Big dreams, Asahi-san!”

Asahi sighs. “My parents don’t want me to go. They want me to find a job and stay here.”

“You’re young – the place to be is the big city!”

“You sound like Tanaka – you two and your city boys.” He smiles. 

“I’d kill to go to Tokyo! Awesome night life, great sports, and cosmopolitan society!”

“Do you know what cosmopolitan means?” replies Asahi lightly. Nishinoya skids down the snow heap and shoves into him, laughing as their shoulders connect and powdered snow is kicked across the sidewalk. He recovers his balance and sidesteps in front of Asahi, stopping there and blocking his path.

“Means you and I wouldn’t have to worry so much about being us,” says Nishinoya, looking up at him. 

Asahi’s mouth dries up. “Nishinoya…”

“You’re almost finished high school, Asahi-san. I’m gonna be a third year in a couple of months. I don’t want to wait anymore.” He reaches out and catches hold of Asahi’s sleeve, his black wool glove lost against the black serge of Asahi’s gakuran. His sharp-edged eyes are full of intensity, his body practically vibrating with it. Under the flickering glow of a streetlight he looks older than he is, looks stunning. His sharp, clean features are accentuated, the winter pallor of his skin brightened. If it weren’t for his height and his perpetual lack of seriousness he could be a model, could be on runways and catwalks with a bare chest and low-slung pants. Asahi tries to swallow and coughs, lungs dry. 

“Nishinoya,” he chokes out.

“You want it, right? You want us? I don’t mean – we don’t have to go all the way or anything. But I want to be more to you than your libero. Now that you’re leaving it’s not enough to hold us together. Not nearly.” 

Asahi rests his hand over Nishinoya’s, his fingers tight over the delicate knit of the glove. “Of course I want it,” he answers honestly. “So much. I do – I’ve wanted it for months. Holding back over the Nationals…”

“It almost killed me,” says Nishinoya keenly, and Asahi knows it’s true. He saw it in every glance, every touch between them: the crushing want, the longing. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

On the street beside them cars are driving by, their headlights cutting bright strips out of the dark night. On the other side of the street another club student pedals by on a bike, eager to be home. Asahi and Nishinoya stand frozen, on the edge of what feels like a bottomless precipice. Happiness on one side, acceptance on the other. Asahi hesitates; Nishinoya feels it and steps closer, raising his other hand to rest on Asahi’s opposite shoulder. In anyone else it might be a gesture of supplication, the weak looking up to the strong. Asahi knows it’s entirely the opposite. Nishinoya is his pillar, his lodestar. 

“I do – I want to be with you. But... there’s just so many buts. Our parents, your classmates, my job if I ever get one…”

“I’m not saying we need to shout it from the roof,” says Nishinoya. “But Daichi-san and Suga-san have kept it under wraps and they’ve both survived school and got careers lined up.”

“It just seems unfair – to you. To us. To start a relationship by lying to everyone about it.”

Nishinoya shifts his weight, raising his eyebrows. “If we waited another year, would you feel differently?” he asks.

Asahi tries to imagine that. Imagine himself at Nishinoya’s graduation ceremony hugging him, kissing him for the photographs, in front of the rest of Nishinoya’s classmates. The image fails to solidify. “I guess not,” he admits. “You’re right – there’s no anonymity here. Everyone knows us. And it feels like everyone’s just waiting to judge us.”

“So why wait then? So long as we’re here, nothing’s going to change in the people around us. We’ve got to make the change for ourselves.” 

Asahi takes a breath. His skin is tingling, his heart thrumming in his chest. He drops his hands lightly on Nishinoya’s shoulders and bends. Nishinoya looks up, eyes wide at first, then sliding closed. “Asahi-san…” 

He feels the word brush against his face, soft and warm. Asahi presses their lips together, and it’s more than banked fire and passion, it’s fear and insecurity and awkwardness too, but then Nishinoya’s tilting his face and deepening the kiss and suddenly Asahi has nothing in his mind but the heat of their embrace. It contrasts deliciously to the cold air around them, to the prickling of frost against his cheeks and the iciness in his feet. Nishinoya presses firmly back against his advance, adjusting his angle and using his tongue to open Asahi’s mouth like an oyster knife, searching for satisfaction. Asahi gasps into the kiss, shocked and more than a little aroused, and Nishinoya snorts. 

They break apart smiling, Asahi flushed and flustered and Nishinoya looking supremely proud. “Does that mean we’re trying it?” he asks, grinning. 

“Yes, I think that’s what it means,” answers Asahi. 

Alone in the darkness, they walk home together holding hands.

  
***

Asahi’s parents are closet liberals in a more conservative town; he’s not too worried about telling them that he likes boys in general and one in particular. Which is to say, he’s only half afraid that he’ll spontaneously have an aneurism on the middle of the kitchen floor. He’s been putting it off for a long time; for more than a year. But now with the possibility of having Nishinoya over to do… well, boyfriend stuff, it doesn’t feel right to keep hiding it.

With the brash, brassy confidence engendered by Nishinoya’s enthusiastic kiss, he comes into the warm kitchen where his mom is preparing dinner, the air full of rich savoury smells, and his father is reading the newspaper. 

His mom looks up at him as he plants himself on the floor, and he feels his confidence falter. 

“Asahi?” she asks. “How was practice?”

“It was fine. Good.” He fidgets, running his hands over his pulled-back hair and then twitching his gakuran straight. “It’s… um… there’s something I wanted to tell you. I mean, it’s not a big deal. Well it kind of is. I guess.”

His mother, used to his prevarications, just waits patiently while slicing tofu cleanly into cubes. “Did something happen?” she asks. “At club?”

_I kissed a boy_ , he thinks. _I’m dating Nishinoya._

“Kind of,” he says, hopelessly. His confidence has entirely melted away, like ice dumped into a boiling kettle; he wants to sink into the floorboards. “I – I kissed someone,” he says, practically whispering.

His mother’s eyebrows rise; his father lowers the newspaper. 

“Who?” asks Mom.

“Nishinoya,” he says, twisting his hands. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting; for her to drop the knife, for his father to say something awkward, for someone to get angry. Instead:

“And?” she asks.

Asahi stares at her blankly. “And?”

“And did he return your feelings?”

“He’s the one who wanted me to. I – he – we’ve been waiting. For a long time. Since before Qualifiers. And now I’m graduating and… we want to be serious. I want to be serious. I know I should have told you sooner but I’ve been so worried and I didn’t know what you would think and –”

“Sweetie,” says his mother, putting down the knife and coming over, her slippers shuffling quietly against the hard wood. “We’ve known you liked Nishinoya-kun for ages. I’m not sure we even knew you were trying to hide it – it’s been terribly obvious.” She puts her hand against Asahi’s face, brushing away a stray hair. “Your father and I will always support you, no matter who you like. Nishinoya-kun is a nice boy; I hope he’ll be good to you. I know you find it difficult to say the things in your heart, so thank you for telling us. We appreciate it.”

“You’ll be a fine man, Asahi,” says Dad, his smile disappearing into his beard. “But make sure you think about what Nishinoya-kun is ready for. He’s still a student – well, you’re both still students, for now. Be safe, and don’t go rushing into anything.”

Asahi’s knees are shaking. He gives a tremulous, watery smile. “I won’t,” he promises. His mother gives him a hug, then steps away. “Now come help me with the rice,” she says.

  
***

That night after he’s finished his chores, Asahi takes a seat and opens up the workspace hidden away in his closet. The sewing machine and serger are pushed away to the back, freeing up space at the front of the desk for him to plan. He has a ring-bound book in which he sketches out his designs. Usually they’re based on something he’s picked up at a thrift shop or seen in a magazine. But today he’s feeling creative. Is feeling inspired.

He starts slow, drawing silhouettes and then filling in details. He begins with something simple: slacks and a dress shirt. Makes the slacks fitted to show off strong legs and a firm ass, keeps the cuff with no break to look good on a short figure. The shirt he designs to be close fitting, with a short tail so it can be worn untucked. For details he pencils in a waistband and belt loops to the pants and a pointed breast pocket to the shirt.

Asahi sits back and considers the sketches on facing pages. Although the designs are generic, there’s only one person he imagines these clothes on. One person they’re _right_ for. A young man with boundless flair and confidence, with energy and an expressive face. With the ability to bring the clothes he wears to life. 

Smiling softly to himself Asahi turns the page and taps his pencil to his lip for a few seconds before starting to sketch his next idea.

  
***

He and Nishinoya do take it slow, in part because they still have club activities and they’re both studying for their end-of-the-year exams. Asahi’s not too worried about his – all he has to do is pass – but Nishinoya also needs to pass and for him it’s never been as easy. They study together, Nishinoya easily distracted and craving Asahi’s touch, and Asahi finds it challenging to remain positive and keep Nishinoya on task. They end up interwound on the bed or the floor more often than not, Nishinoya pushing pouting kisses against Asahi’s upraised chin as he tries – and fails – to distance himself.

“You need to study,” he says, half-laughing as Nishinoya squirms in his lap, so thwarted, so wronged. 

“Just one kiss,” wheedles Nishinoya. 

“Are we creating a barter system now? Is this a new economy? What’s the inflation rate?”

“Oh god Asahi-san don’t tease you know I can’t wrap my head around that stuff. I told Sensei the bubble economy happened because we used too much dish fluid.”

Asahi supresses a smile. “You could do better if you paid more attention to it and less to me.”

Nishinoya looks up hopefully, eyes shining. “You’re much more interesting.” He presses his face in close, nuzzling up to Asahi like a cat. “Much,” he adds, voice low. 

Asahi swallows. “One kiss,” he says weakly; on his lap Nishinoya crows excitedly. 

It’s never just one.

  
***

He still hasn’t told the libero about the secret hidden away in his closet, about the book of sketches that as the days pass is growing fuller and fuller. About the pictures of Nishinoya he’s started to collect and tape to his walls to inspire him. About the fabric he’s started to eye, the itch in his fingers to get started on bringing his designs to life – although without a job he can’t afford it.

It’s not that he’s afraid; he’s been spending enough time with Nishinoya to know that the younger boy won’t judge him, that he’ll be supportive. 

It’s more that it’s starting to feel more like a surprise. Something he can bring out to awe Nishinoya, the one talent he has left now that his days as the team ace are nearly done. But he can’t get started on sewing until he can take Nishinoya’s measurements, and he can’t do that until he shares this secret. So he starts planning for that day.

  
***

Somehow, miraculously, they both pass their exams. Asahi buys Nishinoya two popsicles to celebrate, which he inhales immediately despite the fact that there’s ice ferns on the store windows.

“Wanna come over my place to really celebrate? My parents are gone ‘til late,” says Nishinoya, waggling his eyebrows suggestively as they walk out onto the frost-bleached sidewalk. Asahi feels his face heating up. He hitches his bag higher on his shoulder. 

“Yuu…”

Nishinoya cocks his head to the side. “You don’t want to?” 

“Of course I do!”

“What’s the problem then? I’m not gonna ravish you, Asahi-san. Not if you don’t want me to,” he adds with such a lewd grin that Asahi chokes a little on the cold air. 

He wants it so badly – has dreamed about it, has imagined it while in bed. It’s all he thinks about anymore when he pleasures himself, Nishinoya’s grinning mouth swallowing down his cock, the press of Nishinoya’s prick against his, the taste of him… They’re all things Asahi’s never known, but it doesn’t stop him imagining. 

“Okay,” he says weakly. 

Nishinoya blinks. “Really? You’ll come home with me?”

He takes his courage in both hands. “Really.”

  
***

Nishinoya’s room is small, just a bed and a desk; his few books are propped up at the back of the desk’s surface or stuffed into his nightstand. There’s a lamp on the edge of the desk to make up for the inadequate ceiling lighting.

The first thing Asahi does is break the lamp. 

He didn’t mean to do it of course; Nishinoya shoves up against him as soon as they’re inside, his hands slipping up under Asahi’s shirt, his hands frigid on Asahi’s skin. He leaps backwards and slams into the desk, and the lamp goes over the edge, its glass shade shattering into several large pieces. Asahi breaks away from Nishinoya to look at the damage, eyes wide. “Oh god – Yuu – I’m sorry, I,”

“Asahi-san, don’t even worry about it. Here. C’m’ere.” He leads Asahi around the carnage and to the bed. “I’ll clean it up later. Sit. _Sit_.” He pushes Asahi down just as Asahi’s knees give out under him. Then Nishinoya is scampering up onto his lap, kissing Asahi and pressing their bodies together. He wriggles his hips and then settles into a rolling motion that replaces Asahi’s nervousness with sharp-edged desire. He melts into the kiss, his fingers in Nishinoya’s hair, Nishinoya’s busy taking off his gakuran and then his shirt. Asahi hardly notices; the friction against his groin is incredible, is better than his hand has ever been, and Nishinoya is hardly even _trying_. He moans into the kiss and Nishinoya laughs and leans back; Asahi grabs him and pulls him forward. 

“Geez, Asahi-san, we should’ve done this sooner. Look how much you want it.” He obligingly tilts his hips back to rut up against Asahi’s and presses an open-mouthed kiss to Asahi’s neck. His wet tongue laving Asahi’s skin does something strange to Asahi’s insides, makes him think of wet slick on his cock, of Nishinoya sucking him down… He buries his hands in Nishinoya’s hair. “Mmm, you _do_ like it,” whispers Nishinoya, his breath blowing over the wet skin sending shivers down Asahi’s spine. He finishes taking off Asahi’s shirt and he runs his hands over Asahi’s toned chest, his broad pecs and flat abs. “Can’t believe you’re mine.” Nishinoya ducks his head lower, trailing kisses down Asahi’s left pec until he reaches the nipple which he laps at; Asahi shudders as a bolt of arousal shoots through him. 

“Yuu…”

Nishinoya’s licking at it now, running his clever tongue over the raised bud. He sucks at it, then takes it lightly in his teeth and pulls. The desire is sharp and rough as a hail-storm pounding into him, the entirety of his attention suddenly focused on the sensitive nipple. “ _Yuu!_ ” 

“I’d like it if you touched me, Asahi-san,” he says, his mouth close to Asahi’s chest. 

“Just Asahi, Yuu,” he says quietly, running his hands down Nishinoya’s back. It feels hard, feels unfair. Nishinoya is so good at this, seems to know instinctively how to turn him on. Asahi feels big and clumsy, feels uncertain. 

“Mm my ass, Asahi. Sink those big fingers into my ass.”

Asahi flushes but lets his hands fall down beneath Nishinoya’s belt to rest over his pert ass. The ass he’s admired a hundred times in the gym, the ass he’s dreamed about. He takes a breath and grabs – lightly at first, then more firmly when Nishinoya squirms delightedly against him. “Fuck, like that. Mnh, like that,” he moans as Asahi digs his fingers into the firm flesh, his fingers spreading Nishinoya’s cheeks through the fabric. It’s making Nishinoya twist his hips more firmly against Asahi’s, is spreading warmth like sunshine through him.

He’s hard now, is aching and hungry, and Nishinoya is too – he can feel it through the tight press of their clothes. Emboldened by the sounds his partner is making, Asahi brings his hands over Nishinoya’s hips and undoes his belt buckle, pushes his pants down. Nishinoya’s up at once squirming out of them, leaving him in just cotton boxer-briefs, the bulge of his dick very apparent. He shucks off his jacket and shirt as well apparently for good measure. His skin is evenly toned and smooth, his form fit and lithe, not chiselled but very firm. Catching Asahi’s eyes on him he grins and sneaks his hand down inside his underwear, stroking himself erotically. Asahi can see the arousal in his eyes, can see the way they gleam, lust-drunk. 

Asahi takes advantage of his brief relocation to kick off his own pants, and then Nishinoya’s back. Asahi slips his hands down inside the back of his boxer-briefs to knead his hot, naked ass and Nishinoya rears back headily and lets out a keening moan. He leans in for a kiss, panting into it, as his hand trails down over Asahi’s abs and to the elasticised waistband of his underwear. Then it’s slipping inside, his hand on Asahi’s most sensitive flesh, taking him tightly, stroking him. 

It’s incredible. Is heat and sensuality and ecstasy all at once, the firm warmth of Nishinoya’s skin against his. He thumbs over Asahi’s leaking head and uses the pre-come to slick his small hand; Asahi’s always had a generous supply of it – it used to embarrass him but right now it’s hot as fuck and all he wants is Nishinoya pumping him. He digs his fingers into the crease of the libero’s ass, the tips of his middle fingers brushing against the puckered entrance, and Nishinoya’s hand jerks. 

“Fuck yeah, Asahi. Touch me, pull me open, finger me. Pound me with your fucking fat fingers.” He’s panting filthily, the long stretch of his back and the shining curve of his ass hopelessly erotic. 

“Need lube,” gasps Asahi, because he has read about this online and he knows dry is not the way to go, and Nishinoya reaches out with his free hand and fumbles in the drawer of the nightstand. He returns with a jar of cream and awkwardly spins the lid off; Asahi takes a good dollop of it on his fingers and returns to stroking Nishinoya’s core. Nishinoya shudders hungrily and he slips a finger inside; Nishinoya gasps and strokes his cock with an almost uncomfortable strength, just on the edge of pleasure. 

“Shh,” he says, slowly sliding his finger in and out. “You’re okay. You’re great. You’re so good, Yuu. So good.” He works his digit inside Nishinoya’s hot hole while Nishinoya’s hips twitch, his breathing uneven. 

They keep up the momentum for more than a minute, each stroking the other, revelling in their closeness, their intimacy. But Asahi’s cock’s had almost all it can take; he’s so aroused, so turned on by the sensation of Nishinoya’s hand stroking him off and his own finger up inside the libero making him pant, making him want. 

“Yuu… can you make me come?”

Nishinoya glances up at him, and although his eyes are dark and hazy with lust, he grins. He slides forward, pulls down his own underwear and tugs out his cock. In an instant he’s pressed it against Asahi’s throbbing member, is pulling them both together. 

The sight of his dripping, flushed cock pressed up against Asahi’s send a fresh wave of stimulation through him, a tidal wave of ecstasy. Nishinoya’s dick is smaller than his but perfectly formed and swollen with his arousal, the tip dotted with silver pearls of pre-come. The sensation of their dicks pressed together is overwhelming; Asahi digs his hands into Nishinoya’s ass and the libero cries out, Asahi’s finger knuckle-deep. 

“Oh please, oh please,” Asahi’s saying, is chanting, while Nishinoya pants short, desperate heaves and pumps their cocks together. He slips another finger inside Nishinoya and the libero bites his lip, eyes closing. Then Nishinoya’s hole is clenching on him, his muscles tensing, and he’s coming with a soft grunt. He tilts forwards, crushing himself against Asahi, grinding their balls together while his fingers slacken. Asahi pulls his fingers out and takes over, jerks himself to the edge and then over as Nishinoya watches him open-mouthed. 

Nishinoya drops against him, sweaty and hot, wraps him in an embrace. “Fuck yeah, Asahi,” he whispers in Asahi’s ear. Asahi holds him with his clean hand, pressing a kiss against Nishinoya’s temple.

“You were so good,” he says. “How are you that good?”

Nishinoya leans back and grins sexily. “Raw, unfiltered skill,” he answers. And then, lifting his eyebrows. “If you come with me to get washed off, we could do it again in the shower.”

Asahi gives a breathless laugh. “I’d like a break first. But a shower sounds great.”

“Your wish is my command,” replies Nishinoya, and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose.

  
***

Graduation Day. Sakura, fresh-pressed gakuran, tears. His parents sit in the audience and take pictures as he crosses the stage in the gym he’s spent so much time in. Daichi and Suga grin at each other, their smile a shared understanding, a shared love. Nishinoya stands straight and still, beaming at him the whole time, like Asahi and he are the only two people in the gym and this is their day. It gives him the strength to get through the whole ceremony without actually shedding tears, although they do well up in his throat.

After he’s received his formal certificate rolled neatly in its tube, he and the rest of the third years are released. He hugs everyone – Daichi, Suga, Ennoshita, is pulled into a massive knot of teammates by Hinata and Tanaka who are bawling. Nishinoya wriggles in beside him and presses his hand, a tiny private gesture just for the two of them. 

He wants it to be special for Nishinoya too. Wants it to be more than the day he deserts him, the day he walks through the school gates for the final time and doesn’t come back. Wants this to be the start of something as well as the end of it.

“Come over after school,” he tells Nishinoya when they have a moment together. “I have something to show you.”

  
***

Nishinoya bounds into his room all light and laughter, his look turning from innocent to wicked the moment the door is closed. He throws his arms around Asahi and kisses him, draws him deeper and deeper into his mouth until Asahi’s half-hard and panting. “Now I get to do everything I wanted to this morning,” he says with a hungry look, pushing Asahi up into the wall and nipping at the tender skin beneath his jawline. Asahi almost lets him, almost relaxes into the embrace. But he’s been looking forward to this for weeks. So he puts his hands on Nishinoya’s shoulders, holding him steady.

“Wait. I have something I want to show you.”

Nishinoya’s eyes drop to his pants; Asahi laughs. “Not that! Come here.” He tows Nishinoya over to his closet. Takes a breath, puts a hand on the knob, and pulls it open. Inside is his small perfect space, his machines squared against the wall, his bobbins forming a colourful rainbow, the spare wall space taken up with a mish-mashed collage of pictures of Nishinoya, of fashion models, of street and designer fashion. 

Nishinoya stares into it, then looks up at Asahi, expression confused. “I don’t get it.”

“This is where I work. This is what I want to do. I want to design clothes, Yuu. Here.” He opens his book to the page where his new collection starts and flips through the pages. Past shirts and slacks and jeans, past sweaters and a jacket, to a three-piece suit with a carefully-coloured orange tie. 

“I want you to model them for me,” he says quietly, as Nishinoya stares at the hand-drawn collection, his finger ghosting over the slim designs. 

“This – you _make_ these things?” Nishinoya’s face is turned downwards, in shadow. 

“I haven’t yet. Not for you. But yes; I’ve been sewing for years. I took some online courses in pattern-making and sewing, and went to the community centre with the Obaa-sans. I want to move to Tokyo and get apprenticed in a design house in Jiyugaoka.”

Nishinoya turns and Asahi sees his appreciation burning in him like a bonfire, his eyes bright and shining, his lips parted in awe. “I thought you asked me here to _un_ dress me, not dress me!” He smiles hugely. “This is amazing, Asahi-san.”

“You’re my inspiration,” replies Asahi shyly. “And you’d make a great model. You’ve got the flair.”

“Hell yeah I do,” replies Nishinoya, striking a pose and grinning. “So can I see some stuff that you’ve made? Do you have anything?”

Asahi blushes but steps over to his bed and pulls out the closer of the two rubber bins beneath it. He opens the lid and reveals a tightly-packed box of clothes. A-line dresses, full skirts, camouflage-patterned chinos, vests, men’s and women’s dress shirts. Nishinoya sorts through them one at a time holding them up and examining them closely, the way he would a volleyball video of an opposing team. When he’s done he sits back on his heels and looks up at Asahi. “You really made all of these?”

“Yes. A few were from patterns I bought but most of them were from patterns I made.”

“You designed _and_ made them!” He looks back to some of the cotton dress shirts. “This one might fit me – can I try it on?”

Asahi smiles. “Sure.”

He sheds his jacket and shirt quickly and pulls on the dress shirt. It’s a blue pinstripe with a white collar; sewing it had been an interesting exploration of matching the lines up at the seams and darts. Asahi’s critical eye sees that it’s slightly too long in the shoulders and too wide in the side seams. “Not quite right,” he says, when Nishinoya’s buttoned it up. 

Nishinoya looks at the mirror on the wall and tugs at the front, fairly tight across his chest. “But it looks so good!”

“You just say that because your mom bought all your uniforms big.”

“Yeah; she never stops hoping I’ll grow into them. But seriously man, this is unbelievable.” Nishinoya turns to him, his smile bright and amazed. “I can’t believe you can just… do this. Make these things.”

“It took a lot of work. But I’ve always known I wanted to make things, and I was never good at shop or mechanics or any of that stuff. I have an aunt who sews and one day I thought ‘why not?’”

“So what do we do now? Do you measure me?” Nishinoya asks, fiddling with the buttons of the shirt thoughtfully. 

Asahi scratches his cheek. “Actually, I’d like to make a dress form.”

“A what?”

“A mannequin that I can use to make sure the clothes I make are tailored for you. We can make it out of duct tape – I’ll wrap you in it to create a mold.”

Nishinoya’s eyes widen. “Wow, kinky.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Yep. But first,” says Nishinoya, grinning suggestively as he cocks his hips, “you’re gonna have to take this shirt off me.”

  
***

Even with the dress form made and additional measurements taken for Nishinoya’s legs, there’s not much Asahi can do without the cash to buy fabric. He doesn’t want to buy cheap roll-ends from the local sewing store; he wants nice, _real_ fabric. More than that – knows that he _needs_ it if he’s ever to impress anyone.

He gets a job at the end of March working in a pet store. He recognizes fully that he was hired for his size and ability to haul around 20 kg bags of feed and cat litter, but he enjoys helping out with grooming and puppy training too. He works extra shifts for the money, opening and closing and coming in on weekends. After three years of 12-14 hour days at school it’s no hardship. Nishinoya’s busy with club anyway, training the new first-years and trying to make sure the second-years have enough opportunity for growth. 

He’s training Hinata to be libero, and although they haven’t talked about it, Asahi knows it’s because he’s already thinking of the day when he’ll be gone. The team needs a strong libero and despite his early weakness at receiving Hinata somehow found surprising insight during the fall training camp that he crashed. He’s developed a libero’s eyes, if not quite his reflexes yet. 

So really they’re both busy, and finding time to be together now that they’re no longer both in club is hard. They text every day but it’s still tough. In Sendai Asahi hears that Daichi and Suga are having the same struggle, both out of the apartment at all hours studying or in courses, both full to the brim with the new lives they’re striving towards.

He had always thought that high school would be the hardest time of his life. He had never imagined that things could be more complicated afterwards. That while he had worked himself more than half to death, school had been neat and simple compared to the real world. 

_I’m just tired_ , he texts Nishinoya late one night after finishing stock-taking and locking up the store. _I miss you._

_We’ll be OK_ , replies Nishinoya. _‘Cause you’re hot & I’m awesome. Chin up, Asahi._

Asahi smiles and turns out the light.

  
***

It takes three paycheques before he thinks he has enough saved up to actually buy anything. He and Nishinoya take a trip to Sendai one Saturday after morning club activities have finished. Asahi’s got all his measurements ready; he’s not sure what he’s going to find, but he knows what he wants.

The most impressive fabric store Asahi’s ever been in was in Tokyo; it had been small and narrow but deep, the bolts of fabric stacked neatly atop one another on wooden shelves that ran from the floor to the ceiling. The serving staff had all been men in their 50s and 60s wearing suits. The music playing overhead had been incongruous 1960s British pop. 

Compared to that haven, this store is lacking. But compared to his local sewing shop which is mostly used by housewives to make clothes for their children and quilters to make quilts, it’s amazing. Nishinoya walks behind him as he pulls out rolls and bolts, enthusing over this fabric or that pattern. “I want to find something right. Something _perfect_ to start out with,” he says as he digs deeper and deeper into the store, attracted to various fabrics but not sold on them.

Finally at the back he finds a bolt light grey cotton twill the colour of cigarette ash. What really attracts him to it though is the bold silver dragon pattern. It’s only visible when the light hits the fabric right, and then it shimmers. The dragon is nearly 30cm large but only occurs infrequently. 

Asahi knows immediately that it’s what he needs. This is what he’ll start off with, this will be his first piece. “What do you think?” he asks, holding it up to Nishinoya. 

Nishinoya holds up a thumb. “Kick-ass,” he says.

  
***

Sewing the fabric is challenging because he only wants the dragon to occur once on the front side. He has to carefully cut and place the fabric, using narrow seam allowances and making the stitching fiddly to have enough spread of plain twill. It takes him a week of work late at night to make up first the muslin and then the final shirt. But when it’s done he knows it’s right, that it’s perfect. Beautiful.

He calls Nishinoya over, the shirt neatly ironed and lying folded on his bed. The libero stops by on his way home after club, tired and bruised from a long session of receiving practice with Hinata. As they climb the stairs together Asahi pulls off his track jacket and kisses the bruises on his arm, starting at his wrist and moving up along the gentle curve of his forearm to his elbow – protected by the pad – and then higher. Nishinoya laughs breathily, pushing Asahi backwards and stealing a kiss from his lips as they make it to the top of the stairs. 

Asahi smiles and breaks away, holding Nishinoya back. “Now now. We’re not here for that.”

“I’m _always_ here for that,” replies Nishinoya brassily. “’Sides, you started it.”

“Well, maybe after. But first, come here.” He leads the way into his room, Nishinoya following. He stops beside the bed, looking down. Nishinoya comes to stand next to him and follows his gaze, seeing the shirt for the first time. He steps forward hesitantly and reaches out. His narrow fingers brush over the stiff fabric, over the straight, starched line of button holes and the diagonal angle of the pocket. He picks it up and lets it fall open. The light grey shirt is narrow, tailored to fit him perfectly. On the right breast the Chinese dragon rises from bottom to top, its long snake-like body wound like a corkscrew and its toothy maw open. 

“Asahi… this is too nice for me,” he says, looking from the shirt to Asahi. “I’m just a scrappy volleyball guy. This… this is _nice_. It’s classy and special and… beautiful.”

“Yuu, _you’re_ classy and special and beautiful. Try it on.”

Wide eyes watching Asahi he shrugs out of his white shirt (the kanji on the back reading “simplicity and fortitude”) and then slips the shirt over his shoulders. Slowly he buttons it up from the top down, leaving the top-most button open so that the collar reveals his throat. It’s short, the right length to be left untucked, the creases razor-sharp. 

It fits him perfectly. Shoulders, sides, cuffs, it’s just right. It broadens his shoulders and emphasizes his trim waist. Over his chest, the dragon shimmers in the LED light. “Look,” he says, and turns Nishinoya around to face the mirror. 

Nishinoya looks at himself, turning slowly as he takes it in. “It’s … it’s really special, Asahi.”

Behind him, Asahi bends and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You make it special.”

  
***

He doesn’t buy the best for every piece. For the jeans he makes he buys bleached denim online, and for the overalls he picks up corduroy from the local sewing shop. But as the months tick by and his savings slowly grows, Asahi makes regular trips to Sendai’s fabric stores to look for the material he needs. As he completes each piece he invites Nishinoya over to try it on, embarrassed by his praise but also encouraged by how good the clothes look on his svelte form.

And afterwards Nishinoya is more than happy afterwards to celebrate – intimately.

  
***

In the late fall, just as Karasuno fails to qualify for Nationals a second time, Asahi finishes his collection.

He doesn’t say anything about it right away, because Nishinoya is mourning their loss and in a way Asahi mourns with them – he wanted Nishinoya to have a second chance at Nationals, a second opportunity to win the victory they failed to. He’s in the stands when they lose, feels his heart go out to them as Shiratorizawa celebrates their win. Afterwards he consoles Nishinoya with just his presence – they don’t need words. They’ve both been through shattering loses before. 

But when Nishinoya’s ready to be cheered up, Asahi brings him up to his room to show him the final piece. And even as he hears Nishinoya’s soft intake of breath, he knows the libero recognizes that it’s superb. It’s taken him weeks of work to get it right – he’s never sewn a jacket so complicated before, the soft brown of the fabric sharply cut, the chocolate-coloured lining crisply ironed and the stitching nearly invisible. 

The tie is the only thing he bought – he can’t afford to buy the silk for a tie in the wholesale quantity they sell it in on the internet. It’s bright, blazing orange, the exact colour of Nishinoya’s libero uniform. 

“Asahi…” He swallows. “I can’t believe you made this. That you made all of it. It’s like… all along I was so impressed because you were our ace, and you kicked ass on the court. But now I can see that this… this is what you really live for. I know my place on the court, but here…” he looks up to Asahi, uncertain.

“Here, your place is wearing this,” replies Asahi, kissing him. Nishinoya sighs into it, fingers tightening on Asahi’s shoulders. He rises, ending the kiss. “Go on; try it on.”

He sits on his bed and watches while Nishinoya strips out of his gakuran, for once without a lewd butt wiggle or playing with his nipples. He pulls on the plain white Oxford shirt Asahi made first, then dons the close-cut pants and narrow vest. He does up the tie, turning to look, and fuck if he doesn’t look sexy as hell in his shirt sleeves. The pants and vest fit perfectly, outline his narrow waist and the gentle flare of his hips, hugging his ass tightly and ending in neatly-pressed cuffs. “Yuu, you look amazing,” he says. “You make that suit look amazing.”

It’s true. Holding it, fitting it on the duct-tape dress form didn’t do anything to reveal how gorgeous it would be. Nishinoya picks up the suit jacket last and pulls it on. 

Brown isn’t a usual colour in Japanese men’s suiting but Nishinoya looks good in autumn tones, and it has a bit of a hipster vibe to it. In the brown suit and orange tie, he looks phenomenal. The slightly padded shoulders broaden his slimmer silhouette, while the nipped-in back accentuates the gentle line of his spine. 

“Take a picture,” he says, handing his phone to Asahi. “I have to prove to my mother that I can look _good_.”

Asahi smiles and snaps the picture as Nishinoya poses. 

“You’re gonna get that job in Jiyugaoka, you know. With this, there’s no way you won’t.”

“Let’s not jinx it,” says Asahi. But seeing the way Nishinoya shines in the clothes, he thinks he may have a shot.

  
***

Asahi’s not much good with a camera, and Nishinoya as the model obviously can’t also do the photography. So they enlist Suga who is a self-admitted Instagram whore, who enlists Daichi to help carry the photographic umbrella and the tripod he bought online.

They all meet up early one Sunday morning in the beginning of November, Asahi with the clothes, Suga with the equipment, Daichi with his family’s van and Nishinoya with a huge smile. They drive to Sendai singing along to SMAP classics from a CD they found in the van. The sun rises over the mountains as they drive, painting the landscape with colour. 

Asahi’s been doing research, has marked out possible photography locations along with times of day with consideration to sunlight and tourists. They start out the day with Nishinoya in the suit, because it’s the best piece of the collection and also because it will be the hardest to keep unwrinkled. They sneak into the Sakan hotel, one of the most expensive hotels in Sendai, with an open marble-floored lobby and a huge two meter wide table topped with an immense floral display of fall leaves. While Asahi and Daichi look on nervously Nishinoya, completely unaffected, poses beside the table as Suga snaps unobtrusive photos. Fortunately he’s out of the line of sight of the reception desk, and Nishinoya in his bespoke suit looks like he belongs there. With a sharp smile and his hair perfectly quaffed he looks edge, intense. Sexy.

“Great,” says Suga, flipping through the photos when he’s finished. “I can clean up everything else with filters. Next!” 

Nishinoya uses the hotel bathroom to change into his next outfit, the grey dragon shirt and slate-grey slacks. They pile back into the car and head out to Nishi park, famed for a row of beautiful maples. Here they set up the light umbrellas, Daichi and Asahi holding them steady in the breeze while Suga angles himself to make sure that the dragon pattern shows up. The grey outfit stands out beautifully against the fiery trees, Nishinoya posing flamboyantly. He’s completely natural, sometimes grinning for the camera and other times acting as though it’s not there. Asahi can’t see the pictures Suga’s snapping, but from where he’s standing the libero looks absolutely perfect.

Then it’s into a public toilet for a change, and back on the road. 

They visit a library, the sports arena where they played their qualifying match, a children’s playground, and a vintage furniture store. Nishinoya poses with books and flagpoles, on cross-walks and at an immense oak desk. He manages to find an appropriate look for each of the outfits, considering the formality, the background, and the overall picture.

“Seriously, Yuu, you _could_ be a model,” says Asahi, deeply impressed, when the libero leans back against the desk, legs crossed at the ankles, and looks sexily at the camera over a pair of glasses hastily provided by Suga. 

“Guess I’m going to be making my living with my body one way or another,” replies Nishinoya; Asahi chokes. “As a libero, Asahi, chill.” He grins spicily into the camera and Suga clicks off a shot. 

“I think that’s it,” he says. “Who wants food?”

“Oo, me!” Nishinoya sticks his hand up in the air. 

Daichi sighs, shutting the light umbrella. “What’s new?”

  
***

Nishinoya is scouted by Tokyo Chuo University in December, on the condition that he passes the entrance exam. He’s been studying hard since the loss at Prefecturals, but it will still be a stretch.

Suga cleans up the photos and puts them on a memory stick for Asahi so he can choose the best ones. He spends days and days clicking through them, less focused on the clothes themselves than how great Nishinoya looks in them. He finally cleans up a collection and scans in his designs and notes. He has some pictures of his process too; he includes those. 

The final product is a complete collection of both formal and informal clothes for fall/winter, his process well documented. 

He’s been following fashion design houses in Tokyo, and specifically in Jiyugaoka for years. Has been reading websites and articles about breaking into the fashion industry, has done his research. He composes a careful email over several days, the stress of selling himself eating away at his stomach like acid, and attaches some photos. As the last of the leaves are falling from the tree outside his window he hits send, and sits back to wait. 

It takes two weeks and some back-and-forth to receive two offers from design houses in Jiyugaoka to meet to discuss further details. Asahi makes copies of the collection on several USB sticks. Finally he books a day off work, cleans himself up, texts Nishinoya to tell him he’s going, and heads for the bus stop. 

As the bus comes into sight he hears someone calling his name behind him. He turns and sees Nishinoya running towards him in his school uniform, waving. “ASAHIIIII! GOOD LUCK!” 

His heart gives a warm throb. “Yuu! Why aren’t you in school?”

The libero makes a leap and careens into him, Asahi throwing his arms around him. Nishinoya’s laughing and panting at the same time, his breath coming in bursts. “You’ll do great! Just remember – you deserve to be there!” 

“Yuu!”

“If you don’t kiss me now the bus’ll be here,” says Yuu, so Asahi ducks down and kisses him, mind screaming about the fact that they are on a public street in broad daylight. “I’m rooting for you,” he says, when they break apart. “Text me and tell me how it goes!”

Heart racing, Asahi gets on the bus. He moves to the back and takes a seat next to the window. 

Yuu waves goodbye until he’s out of sight.

  
***

Both the design stores that agreed to talk to him are small, new and staffed by young people. The owner who meets with Asahi in the first store – By Design – is hardly 25. His store is largely white with sparse wooden rods to hang clothes from and some large white faux-stone cubes to display shoes and bags.

Asahi loads up his collection on the owner’s macbook and walks him through each piece, talking about what he wanted the look to be and how he achieved it. He’s nervous at the beginning, stammering and stuttering, but when he actually starts looking at the photos to describe them it’s like Nishinoya is in the room with him. Like the libero is there backing him up, cheering him on. 

“I like your style, Azumane-kun,” says the owner of By Design when he’s finished. “It’s a little formal for me, but I can see the potential. And you’ve obviously got the sewing skills. I just don’t think I can take on another staff member right now. It’s possible that I’ll have something available in the spring. Can I take your contact information and get back to you?”

Asahi’s heart sinks, but he smiles anyway. “Of course. Thank you. I would appreciate it.”

  
***

The second store, C U, has an older owner. The aesthetic is much more colourful, the walls painted in bright primary colours and folded clothes stacked in black and white cube shelves. It’s a slightly smaller space, but just as well-kept.

He shows the owner his collection, calmer now, and she nods along as he walks her through it. When he’s done she smiles. 

“I like your work, Azumane-kun. But I need to be frank. You’re too young for my store. I need someone with a few years of experience in design. I think you’ll be able to find a place in a smaller store, perhaps somewhere a little less prestigious. If you can get that experience, come back to me in a few years.”

Asahi swallows, his saliva burning like bile in his throat. “I see. Thank you. I appreciate your time.”

“I wanted you to come down because you need to know that you impressed me, and that’s not easy to do. Maybe in the future, we can work together.”

He bows low enough to hide his miserable face, then takes back his USB stick and leaves.

  
***

“What a pair of _fuckers_ ,” says Nishinoya when they next meet, Asahi stopping by the Karasuno High School gym to talk to him. He kicks the wall, leaving a black mark. “You should’ve brought me, I would’ve told them off.”

“I’m not sure that would have helped, Yuu,” replies Asahi, smiling faintly. 

“It’s not fair! You’ve worked so hard – and your work is so great! They even acknowledged it! They just wouldn’t hire you. _Fuckers_ ,” he hisses again.

“Well, I was aiming high. I should try for something less upscale. Start small.”

“You deserve to be working there, Asahi. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“For now I think I’ll take a short break. I need to save up some more money anyway. Maybe it’s for the best.”

Nishinoya glares at him, and he puts his hand lightly on the libero’s head. “Don’t fuss, Yuu. It will be okay.”

He’s just not sure he believes it himself.

  
***

Winter is hard. Nishinoya is studying his ass off, has mostly handed over the reins of the club to the second years, and has very little time for their relationship. Asahi looks up other smaller fashion boutiques in less prestigious districts of Tokyo, even looks at some in Sendai. But he’s too glum to go through the ordeal of putting himself out there again. He keeps working at the pet store instead, slowly stagnating.

Outside the snow piles up.

  
***

Late at night, when the wind is whistling in the bare tree outside and cold air is leaking in through his single-pane window, Asahi lies in bed and texts with Nishinoya. Sometimes the libero is there, more often he’s not, either studying or sleeping. Asahi, exhausted from hauling sacks of food and litter all day, just wants to know he’s not alone. That there’s someone out there who wants to be with him, even if right now they can’t be.

 _Are you awake?_ He texts just past midnight on a Tuesday, his bedside lamp casting a warm glow over him. 

_Thse practise exAms’ll kill me,_ replies Nishinoya, _Ennoshita strted a studi group. Tanaka dropped out dAY 2._

_Hang in there_ , replies Asahi. _You can do it._

_Why have to B good @ school to play vball? Unfair._

Asahi smiles. _Just imagine, next year Hinata and Kageyama will be in your shoes._

_ROFL. Oh God. The idiot combi._ There’s a pause, and then, _Howre u?_

Asahi looks down at the characters on the screen. There are so many ways to answer that, so many feelings he has. Loss, misery, exhaustion. _I miss you_ , he finally texts.

_Course u do. I lite up your life!_

_You do, Yuu._

_It’ll be OK Asahi. Ur too talnted to be ignored. Youll see. Trust me. Youll always be my ace and Ill always be your libero. I got youre back._

His heart throbs softly. _Thank you, Yuu._

  
***

The university exam results come in in early February. Asahi’s still working at the pet store all day every day. It’s nearly 6pm and no one’s in the store so he’s watching a volleyball video on his phone when he hears the door open.

He looks up and sees Nishinoya standing there, the cold air blowing in behind him. His cheeks are red, and so are his eyes. 

Asahi swallows thickly. And then Nishinoya smiles, a smile as bright as the rising sun. 

“I’m going to Chuo, Asahi,” he says.

  
***

A year after his graduation, Asahi sits through another one. This time he’s in the audience and it’s Nishinoya who’s crossing the stage grinning like a maniac. He receives his certificate with a bow, then turns and brandishes it boldly at the audience while the principal quietly admonishes him for his behaviour. Asahi smiles quietly.

Afterwards they all meet in the courtyard; Hinata and Tanaka cry again, and create a huge volleyball team huddle. Asahi watches from the outside this time as they share these final moments together. Then they’re breaking apart, the first-years looking at the graduation certificates in awe while the second-years are much more pragmatic: this will be them next year and it’s close enough now that they can feel it. 

Asahi bends down to hug Nishinoya, far too self-conscious for anything else. But he does whisper in the libero’s ear: “I love you. So much.”

Nishinoya pulls away smiling softly. “Me too,” he says.

  
***

Nishinoya leaves for Tokyo at the end of the month, moving into the university’s dorms. Asahi waves him goodbye from the bus stop, and manages not to cry until he’s out of sight.

He goes home and flops face-down on his bed, terribly, abjectly unhappy. 

On the stand beside him his phone pings. He ignores it, and it pings again. Slowly he looks up, then reaches out and grabs it. It’s Nishinoya texting him:

_U’d better nt B crying Asahi.  
Your gonna B here soon, you know.   
I know it. _

Asahi sniffs and wipes at his eyes. He looks at the dress form of Nishinoya, standing on a pole in the corner of his room. It gives him an idea.

  
***

It’s April and Asahi’s just finished a new shirt for Nishinoya when he receives the email from By Design.

_Azumane-kun,_

_I hope you remember our discussion in the fall. I’ve been thinking of you and the collection you put together. One of our staff has just left to have a baby, and we have a vacancy for a junior apprentice. If you’re still interested, I would like to take you on on a trial basis. Please let me know._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Inoue Jun_

_PS: If you would be okay with it, I would like to submit some of your photographs to a design journal. The brown suit in particular was stunning._

Asahi sits staring at the email in incomprehension for nearly a minute. He reads it over and over again, trying to figure out what he’s misunderstanding, what he’s missing. 

But even after reading it for the tenth time, it still says the same thing: he’s going to Tokyo. 

He reaches out and snatches up his phone. He has to tell Nishinoya right away.

  
***

Asahi arrives in Tokyo just as the last of the cherry blossoms finish. He has two suitcases and that’s it. And almost half of the things in them aren’t for him.

Nishinoya meets him at the entrance to the Tohoku Shinkansen, waving and with a bouquet of flowers. 

“I didn’t bring you anything,” says Asahi, laughing at the flowers. But that’s not quite true. He looks down at his better suitcase. “Well. I did bring the suit.”

“So I can wear it?” asks Nishinoya. “Or so you can take it off me?”

Asahi smiles. “Let’s assume both,” he says. And in the bustling, anonymous, _cosmopolitan_ crowd of Tokyo station, he kisses Nishinoya. 

END


End file.
